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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26116240">Little Clumsy Boy, Aren't Cha?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vincent_Van_Gogh5643/pseuds/Vincent_Van_Gogh5643'>Vincent_Van_Gogh5643</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Half-Life</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Enemies to Lovers, I had a really bad nightmare and wrote a fanfiction for it I'm sorry, I've never written for this fandom before publicly so please bare with me, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Canon, also Benrey has auditory processing problems let him say huh and then immediately answer you, also I promise this has humor in it. It has benrey in it it has to be humorous, don't FUCKING talk to m-, eventual hurt/comfort when they fucking get past the awkwardness, graphic depictions of violence for gordon's arm gore post canon, if you even wanna call it that lmao it's gonna be short, it's just sad also, mature just for the gore stuff, please don't read it if explicit details of gordon's arm gore are gonna make you uncomfortable</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 07:34:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,404</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26116240</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vincent_Van_Gogh5643/pseuds/Vincent_Van_Gogh5643</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He just wants to go back to bed, he just wants to close his eyes, no static, no hallucinations, and wake up to all of this being over. His arm back, no Benrey, no resonance cascade, no fucking Chuck E. Cheese birthday parties, no eldritch bullshit. Just him, a steady salary at Black Mesa, Joshua, and baseball on the weekends.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Benrey/Gordon Freeman</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>200</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Gordon Freeman Panic Attack Moments</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Walking home from Tommy’s Chuck E. Cheese birthday party, Gordon feels his arm fade away. This isn’t a surprise to him, somehow, despite how it makes his heart skip a beat. During the party, his arm didn’t really feel… real… Everytime he used it he felt like it was slipping away. His grip was almost slack, he couldn’t really feel anything touching it, and it felt like it was lagging behind what he was trying to make it do. So, when he approaches the door to his apartment, and reaches down to grab his keys from his pocket, only to look down and immediately feel the searing pain from his exposed bone, exposed flesh, he can’t really be surprised, but he can, on the other hand, be fucking pissed. He practically falls into his apartment after struggling to get his door unlocked for a solid five minutes, and into his shower, throwing off the clothes he had on under his hev suit and immediately washing off the grime, dirt, blood, and god knows what else that he’s accumulated all over him in the past few days in Black Mesa. It feels so good to finally feel clean again, hair actually washed, conditioner softening what was once straw-like. It still hurts when the water touches what’s left of his arm, bone being exposed to the air leaving him feeling like a live-wire, like even the smallest touch will make him either disappear or explode. When the water at his feet turns from brown to clear, he sighs and steps out, drying himself off with relative ease and getting dressed with as little struggle as he can manage before downing some pain meds and stumbling into the living room to promptly pass out on the couch.</p><p>He wakes up to the sun glaring through the window in his living room, his head pounding, his arm aching, and he almost immediately throws the little crocheted blanket off of himself and back onto the back of the couch, not being able to stand the texture of it against the bone sticking out of his arm. He sits up, walking into the kitchen to attempt to eat something other than the soda and Chuck E. Cheese pizza he’s had over the course of the last few days. It feels weird to wake up where he fell asleep, even weirder to wake up in silence. But he supposes he should be grateful- ecstatic, even. This is what normal people wake up to, Gordon, get it <em> together </em>.</p><p>When his arm throbs with pain so bad he feels light-headed, he calls Tommy. He can’t go to the hospital because they’ll ask how he lost his arm, and Black Mesa has promised him plenty of hush money, and he needs that money. For him and for Joshua. He can’t go to Dr. Coomer, because god knows he’s mostly metal at this point, and Bubby is- yeah, no, Gordon’s not gonna even consider talking to Bubby about it. But, luckily, he can go to Tommy.</p><p>“Hello? Mr. Freeman? What is it?” He sounds worried, like Gordon calling him is immediately a sign of bad news. Not that he’s wrong, but he can at least be a little offended by the implication. “Tommy- I- Listen, my arm’s gone again and I- I can’t keep walking around with my arm the way it is, so I was wondering if you could help me out. I don’t really care how, I just- god, it fucking hurts like hell.” There’s silence on the other end for long enough that Gordon feels his anxiety spike, but Tommy lets out a hum of consideration and takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry Mr. Freeman, I don’t really know how I could help. I can come over, though, to see what I can do!” Gordon nods, delirious, before realizing that Tommy can’t see him. “Yeah, that- that’d be great, buddy.” Tommy says something else that Gordon doesn’t catch through his haze of trying to stay upright, before he hears the line disconnect. He lets out a deep breath and stumbles over to his couch, closing his eyes to try and make the room stop spinning, but all he sees and feels is static. It feels like he’s floating through nothing, living in nothing, it feels like he <em> is </em> nothing, and it’s the most anxiety inducing thing he’s ever experienced. He opens his eyes, and there’s a knock on his door. He tries to get up. He thinks <em> really </em>hard about getting up, but he can’t, for some reason. It doesn’t seem to matter, because soon enough Tommy is in his living room, plastic bag in hand, and a worried look on his face. Gordon wonders why he looks so worried, what’s wrong? He wants to make sure everything’s alright, but he doesn’t get the chance to.</p><p>He wakes up on his couch again and it’s dark. He’s confused for a moment, before remembering just how fucked up he was before. He looks around for Tommy, and is confused when he isn’t there before he looks down to find his arm freshly wrapped in a hefty layer of bandages, so he shuffles around the apartment for his phone. Text messages light up the screen, all from Tommy worried about his health and leaving updates. Apparently, Gordon wasn’t doing so well, go figure, and now there are a few quick dinners in the fridge. Apparently him not eating anything isn’t helping his impending infection and delirium as a causation. It warms his heart that Tommy brought so many things over to make sure he would be okay, but he almost starts crying from the nausea of feeling so fucking weak.</p><p>He forces himself to keep his injured arm at his side as he pulls out one of the little tupperware containers, desperately trying to ignore the dull ache that constantly seems to be there, no matter how much he tries to focus on literally anything else. God, he wishes he was left-handed. When he can’t pull the plastic lid off, it feels like the dam has finally broken, and tears start to well in Gordon’s eyes as he picks up a fork and stabs it into the lid, destroying it completely and scattering chunks of spaghetti sauce onto Gordon’s hand, imitating something he just wants to forget. He lets himself fall to the floor, his remaining arm coming up to wipe away rapidly falling tears as a weak sob escapes from his lips. He feels fucking awful. Black Mesa has left him with not only emotional trauma from the gun fire, explosions, aliens, and constant adrenaline rush, but physical damage. He lost one of his arms. How the fuck is he supposed to recover from this? It takes him way too long to break through his thoughts and realize he isn’t breathing, and that, <em> oh </em> , he’s having a panic attack. Realizing doesn’t do anything to help. Before he knows it, his racing thoughts and awful breathing leave him standing in an adrenaline fueled fury to do <em> something </em>, which promptly ends with him blacking out.</p><p>He wakes up in his room, which <em> does </em> surprise him, unlike everything else he’s experienced in the past 24 hours. He sits up in a panic, looking around his room frantically despite not being able to see well enough without his glasses. He squints, and his eyes land on a figure. Benrey. When he catches his eye, he grins with his too-sharp teeth, face only made more intimidating by the light from the psp in his hands. “Little clumsy boy, aren't cha?” His presence and his <em> voice, </em> god, his <em> fucking </em> voice, make so many questions pop up in Gordon’s mind, so many thoughts and emotions start swirling through his head so fast he tries to stand to make it all go away, or to fucking deck Benrey, he’s not sure, but all it does is make him fall onto his ass next to the bed, trying to catch himself with his injured arm instinctively and immediately regretting it. Benrey sets his psp down to help Gordon sit back up on his bed, all while mumbling a bunch of bullshit that Gordon can’t really make out over the searing pain.</p><p>He just wants to go back to bed, he just wants to close his eyes, no static, no hallucinations, and wake up to all of this being over. His arm back, no Benrey, no resonance cascade, no fucking Chuck E. Cheese birthday parties, no eldritch bullshit. Just him, a steady salary at Black Mesa, Joshua, and baseball on the weekends. He must mumble some of that out loud because Benrey sits back and gives him a blank look. “Huh? You can’t go back to sleep.” Gordon just glares at him, “I can do whatever the fuck I want, dude, it’s <em> my </em> house!” Benrey just shakes his head. “You- You haven’t eaten yet, idiot. Tommy says you have to eat because your stupid- stupid human body needs nutrients or something.” Gordon just groans, flopping back on the bed to close his eyes. He thinks he’s developing a headache. After a few minutes, he thinks he hears Benrey leave, and he lets out a sigh of relief, scooting back on the bed to go back to sleep. His head is pounding, his arm fucking hurts like hell, and he really just needs a nap. But, of course, before he can even <em> try </em> to drift off, Benrey’s coming back into his room with food that smells fucking delicious. He didn’t really consider how hungry he was before, but now that Benrey’s standing in his room trying to offer him a warm tupperware container, he grabs it like his life depends on it, which it kind of does, but the irony is present regardless because Benrey could kill him right now. He could poison him, or stab him, or use his fucked up eldritch bullshit to put him six feet under in whatever way he wanted to, and he probably does. Gordon killed him, so why wouldn’t he try to get revenge?</p><p>Every logical part of Gordon’s brain is telling him not to trust Benrey, but he’s just sitting there in the corner of Gordon’s room on his shitty desk chair, playing silently on his psp, and Gordon is so fucking hungry, so he eats it. Benrey cares enough to microwave some of Tommy’s food, so, fuck it, he figures. </p><p>When he’s done eating, he looks around the room, blurry without his glasses, dark without the sun coming through the blinds, and quiet despite Benrey’s presence. He wants to say something because holy shit having Benrey here just raises so many questions, but at the same time, the silence feels like glass, and he really doesn’t want to be the asshole who shatters it and makes Benrey finally fucking snap at him, but Gordon has never really been a quiet man, not really, anyway. “Why are you even here? Did Tommy send you or something?” Benrey looks up from his game and raises an eyebrow at him. “What? No, dummy, I came here on my own. Tommy did tell me about your dumb bones though. Stupid fuckin- fuckin clumsy boy. Can’t even keep your arm on for more than a day.” Gordon wants to fucking punch him again, the urge bubbling in his throat to just tell him off, but he’s so fucking tired, so he just sighs and closes his eyes, finally letting himself drift off again.</p><p>When he wakes up, there’s light filtering through his blinds, gently landing on his bed as he wakes up feeling pretty refreshed, although still a little weak. When he sits up and stretches, reaching over to put on his cracked glasses, he sees Benrey still sitting in the corner, still playing his psp, except it’s plugged in now, the cord going somewhere behind the desk. He shakes his head and yawns. Benrey grins in the absolutely irritating way he always does. “Sleepy boy gordo feetman. Can’t even stay awake after he sees his best bud Benrey? Gonna- Gonna fall asleep for 2 days and not even- not even say hello?” Gordon pauses. Two days? No, that can’t be right. He doesn’t <em> feel </em> like he’s been asleep for two days, but with one roll over and a quick glance at his phone’s lock screen he finds that he has, in fact, been asleep for two days. There are texts from Tommy, too, and they become increasingly urgent before calming down again, ending with a “I’m working on getting you a prosthetic!” It makes Gordon crack a smile before he remembers his entire situation. Arm gone, Benrey in his room. Christ, he’s never gonna get a break, is he? Benrey’s just staring at him with a completely blank expression, and Gordon just kinda snaps. “How the <em> fuck </em> are you still alive?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Froot Loops Funeral</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If this has any formatting errors or otherwise I'm sorry. I uploaded this on my phone.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Benrey noclips out of the room after that, and Gordon doesn’t even </span>
  <em>
    <span>try</span>
  </em>
  <span> to question it- or to stop him. He’s too tired, his arm hurts too much, and now that he’s thinking about it, he’s really fucking thirsty, and he feels </span>
  <em>
    <span>disgusting</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He sighs and gets up, giving his head a minute to adjust to the sudden lack of blood and also the new addition of gravity, before getting up and heading to the shower. It simultaneously feels like he just showered and that he hasn’t showered in months, and it really isn’t doing any favors for his anxiety.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Once he’s made sure to rebandage his wound after his shower, albeit poorly, the bandages digging into parts of his wound he really doesn’t need bandage digging into, he walks into the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee, the caffeine not doing anything for his anxiety either, but the warmth and the bitter taste help bring at least a bit of normalcy back into his life. It reminds him of before the resonance cascade- before he even worked in Black Mesa, even. It brings him back to college, downing coffee after coffee to get through MIT. It soothes him at least for the moment, to mentally go back to before anything weird was happening to him. But, inevitably, he sighs as the pain in his arm starts acting up again from the misplaced bandaging, taking him out of his daydream.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>He makes himself a bowl of cereal, and he only spills a little bit of it on the counter. He’s getting better at this. He pours the milk into the bowl just fine, and even picks up the spoon without defaulting to the wrong hand. Everything’s going in his favor. Nice hot shower, successful cereal making, a nice cup of coffee- and then fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>Benrey</span>
  </em>
  <span> comes through the front door. His arms are full of plastic bags, and while that should make him feel better, because it means he actually left to </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> something, it actually makes him feel worse because what fucking store did </span>
  <em>
    <span>Benrey</span>
  </em>
  <span> go to dressed like that at god knows what time in the morning it is, and what the fuck did he even buy?</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>He’s about to open his mouth to get answers when Benrey’s face falls into a frown when he sees Gordon at the kitchen table. “Yoooooooooo, uncool bro.” He </span>
  <em>
    <span>whines</span>
  </em>
  <span>, like a toddler, in Gordon’s living room. “What?” Benrey just stares at him and then his cereal before setting the bags down on the counter and grabbing Gordon’s bowl. He’s about to fight back because, hello, that’s his fucking cereal- that he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>eating</span>
  </em>
  <span>, mind you, but before he can even open his mouth Benrey’s pouring it in the sink. All Gordon can do is yell incoherently. “Fuck your Froot Loops, bro, I’m tryna- tryna be nice and shit. Gordon meanman.” Gordon can’t even process what’s happening right now despite how hard he’s trying. One, that was fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>Raisin Bran</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and two, he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>eating that</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And what the fuck does Benrey mean by trying to be nice? He dumped his cereal </span>
  <em>
    <span>down the drain</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Cereal does not go down the fucking drain! It’s gonna clog the sink and he’s gonna have to either call someone or fix it himself, but considering his current situation it’s bound to be the former. Christ, he can’t handle Benrey being back. This is all too much.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Tommy was all nice and made you those- those food things in the fridge and- and you don’t even eat them? You eat some- some cereal? Like a noob?” Gordon blinks at him. He’s so pissed right now. He has no idea how to convey how pissed he is right now. “And- and you bandaged up your own arm wrong- all clumsy, after I went to the store to get you more bandages because the ones in your bathroom are shit, anyway, and you- you just do it yourself.” It doesn’t register until Benrey starts actively rambling that Benrey’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>also</span>
  </em>
  <span> pissed off. Furthermore, that Benrey’s pissed off that Gordon won’t let other people help him. But- no- that can’t be right.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Uncool bro. Top 10 Gordon Freeman cringe moments. Tommy’s working on that dumb- dumb metal arm for you, too. What are you, too chicken shit to- to just grow a new one? Gonna let some metal fuck up your arm growth, huh? I bet- I bet you like stressing Tommy out. Because you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>mean</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” That’s the last straw for him, honestly. Benrey making shitty quips about his arm is too fucking far for him. Not right now, not today, not fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He’s tired, in pain, stressed out of his mind, and he just had his fucking cereal poured down the </span>
  <em>
    <span>drain</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He stands up, stepping closer to Benrey. “No, dude, fuck you. I’m not fucking dealing with this today. Get the fuck out of my house!” He jabs a finger into the guard vest he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>still wearing</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “What are you even doing here? Are you just here to fucking mock me? Play all nice and give me food and bandages and then turn around and make fun of my fucking arm? It doesn’t just grow back, Benrey, that’s not how this works, asshole! You got my arm cut off and you- you come back from the fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>dead</span>
  </em>
  <span> just to mock </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span> for something </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> fucking did? Huh? Is that it? Is this your fucking revenge? Not even gonna do me the pleasure of finally offing me, just gonna let me sit here and wallow in pain for the rest of my life while I get fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>mocked</span>
  </em>
  <span> by you?” He’s gesturing wildly, voice raising so loud he’s probably gonna end up with a noise complaint later, not that he really cares at the moment. Benrey’s eyes are wide, and he’s backed up against the counter. He looks… sad, almost. It makes Gordon pause, and Benrey looks away, down at the counter, fiddling with some miscellaneous box.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Bro I don’t know how your human shit works. I- I didn’t even get your arm cut off, remember? Ol’ Benny boy was just there for the ride with Bubby. Tryna- Tryna get you to stop being tracked n’ stuff.” He’s picking at the seams of the box, absolutely tearing it apart with what are essentially claws. Gordon processes what he’s saying and realizes that, oh, he’s serious about his arm growing back. Gordon just sighs, “I’m- Shit- I’m sorry for going off on you. It’s been a really shitty couple of days. Christ.” He puts his head in his hand, running it over his face before letting it drop again. Benrey looks back at him, box mostly shredded in his hands, leaving him with just a Mr. Clean Magic Eraser crumpling in his grasp like it’s a stress ball. “You gonna- you gonna let me fix your dumb arm thing?” Gordon sighs again and looks down at the mess of bandages he’s managed to wrap around his stump of an arm. He rolls his eyes and nods, walking back to the table, sitting down and propping his bandaged arm up on the table.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Benrey honestly looks much happier despite his sharp smile radiating smug, scooting a chair over in front of Gordon and carefully undoing what Gordon had fucked up before. When the open air hits his bone, he flinches, forcing himself to look away. He really doesn’t want to see it again. He feels Benrey’s hand ghost around the wound carefully, starting to wrap it in new, better bandages. Not so rough on his injury. It’s nice, honestly. He lets his head fall back and his eyes fall shut. Not that he’d admit it, but he’s really thankful for Benrey right now. After a few moments, the wrapping stops and Gordon opens his eyes, looking back to see Benrey chewing on the fucking magic eraser and staring at the wrapping to assess his own work. He nods to himself and hums a bit of sweet voice. Teal, Gordon thinks to himself. His arm numbs after that, thank fucking god. “I honestly wish I could grow this back.” Gordon says, bringing his arm back down to his side. “It sucks not having another arm, but I guess Tommy is working on that prosthetic.” He’s not really looking at Benrey right now, head resting on the back of the chair, eyes closed, but for once, he’s silent, so Gordon assumes he must be listening. “I wish I could just do whatever the fuck you did. Come back to life whenever the fuck you feel like it. Grow back an arm like it’s nothing.” When he lifts his head back up and opens his eyes, Benrey’s staring at him with an expression he doesn’t recognize. His eyes are wide, but not shocked. “‘S not easy comin’ back from the void, feetman. Kinda…” Benrey pauses, looking around the kitchen, almost paranoid, before letting a sigh out of his nose, “Kinda sucks. Kinda bad sucks. The opposite of poggers. Weirdchamp moments. F in chat for Benny boy.” Gordon just tilts his head, “You’re still… not human, though. I’m stuck with no arm for like the rest of my life. You would have grown it back by now.” A thought hits Gordon so abruptly he almost chokes. Oh fuck, the rest of his life. How the fuck is he supposed to explain what happened to Joshua, let alone his ex-girlfriend. He buries his face in the wood of the table at his own stupidity.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“What’s up, Gordon, got a uh- a bad case of the lame juice?” Gordon just groans, not caring about the protesting creak his glasses let out at the pressure. “I have to figure out how to tell my fucking ex about this.” When he lifts his head up again, Benrey’s looking away from him almost </span>
  <em>
    <span>guiltily</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “Shit- uh. You have a kid, don’t you? What uh- What are you gonna do about that one?” There’s an emotion like pain in the furrow of Benrey’s eyebrows and how he refuses to look at Gordon, let alone his arm. He’s still pissed, but he guesses he kinda has to forgive Benrey for this now, right? No- scratch that, he kinda just… does? Forgive Benrey, that is. He can’t really feel any malice toward him, not after the look on his face and all of the niceties over the course of the last day or so. Christ, Gordon must have a few screws loose after Black Mesa because there’s no way he’s actually forgiving someone for getting his arm cut off, let alone almost getting him killed. But he guesses they’re even now, right?</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>His train of thought is interrupted by his phone ringing. He startles before digging his phone out of his pocket and answering it, not bothering to check the caller ID. “Hello? Gordon?” Oh fuck. “Uh, yeah, hi.” He tries to sound cheerful, but the strain in his smile only lets out just how miserable he is to have to have this talk this soon. Fuck. “Are you okay?” She says on the other end, and Gordon just sighs, “Yeah, uh, see, I have to talk to you about something, and maybe we should do it in person, but uh-” He looks at Benrey who looks away from him as soon as their eyes meet. “Maybe we should meet at your place? I can’t take Joshua for a um-” He looks down at his arm, “Awhile. I’ll explain when we meet up?” He hopes that suffices for something. “Yeah, of course! Are you sure you’re okay, though, you sound a little… tense...?” Gordon laughs lightly, trying to brush the strain off of his shoulders. It’s fine, she’ll understand. She’s a fucking rocket scientist, she’s smart. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m uh- I’m working on it.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>They arrange a meeting, and Gordon lets out the world’s loudest sigh of relief when the line is disconnected, looking at Benrey. “Sorry, Yasmin, my old girlfriend wants to meet up tomorrow to talk about um…” He holds up his arm, wrapped in bandages and oh so blissfully numb from Benrey’s sweet voice. Benrey nods after a few seconds. “So, uh, what do you want me to do?”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>THIS IS GONNA BE ONE MORE CHAPTER BECAUSE I AM A FOOL WHO CAN'T STOP WRITING</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Top 4 Babies of All Time</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This Really wasn't supposed to be this long, but here we are! I hope you all enjoy/enjoyed it!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He can’t believe he’s bringing Benrey to his ex-girlfriend's house, let alone letting him near Joshua, especially after all of the weird, fucked up shit he’s seen him do. But, well, he’s been through a lot lately, and Benrey being there to help stabilize him and convince him that no, he did indeed go through all of those awful, completely traumatizing things, is a major help. He keeps telling himself he’s there because Gordon couldn’t leave him alone in his apartment, but he’s trying to normalize whatever the fuck is happening in his life now, and if denial is what helps the process, then fuck anyone who thinks it’s unhealthy, even if that “anyone” is himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He has to admit though, that when Joshua’s eyes light up when he sees him, running over to hug him with a gleeful laugh, all of the awful things Gordon’s been through lately seem worth it. Yasmin looks at both of them with concern, a concern that only deepens when she sees his arm. Or- rather- a lack thereof. Gordon just motions her toward the kitchen table, where Joshua has been coloring. “Joshy, honey, why don’t you go in the living room and play?” Yasmin asks with a smile. When Joshua nods and leaves, a trail of loose crayons following behind him as he drops them on his way out the door, Gordon can’t help but smile. “How has he been?” He asks, taking a seat across from her and next to Benrey, who seems more nervous than an eldritch being has any right to be in a suburban neighborhood. “He’s been fine, I’m more worried about </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Gordon. What happened to your </span>
  <em>
    <span>arm</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” He just sighs, leaning back in his chair. “Work accident?” He suppresses a wince at the face Benrey’s making next to him as he pointedly watches Joshua play on the couch instead of paying any attention. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Work accident</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Have you talked to Black Mesa about this?” He nods, “I’m getting </span>
  <em>
    <span>plenty</span>
  </em>
  <span> of hush money, don’t worry.” She scoffs, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, “I’d fucking hope so. You disappearing for a few days and coming back with a missing arm is worth way more hush money than Black Mesa has to offer, if you ask me.” She sighs, and so does he. “So, this is why I can’t take Joshua back. A good friend of mine is working on getting me a prosthetic, and then I’ll be good to take care of him as soon as I get the apartment straightened around again. I’m sorry this is taking so long, I know you’re busy with work.” She shakes her head, “Don’t worry about him, let alone me, worry about </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>. You’ve always been an amazing dad, Gordon, but you can’t carry all of this weight yourself. I’m just glad you have friends who can help you through this.” She gestures to Benrey, who whips his head around when Gordon nudges him lightly with his knee. “Yeah, he’s been a great help, lately.” She smiles gently, turning to look at Joshua fondly where he’s messily coloring on the couch to some cartoon Gordon barely recognizes. “Worry about you for now, I can handle Joshua on my own.” There’s still a tension in the air, but it’s much less suffocating than it had been. “Why don’t you two stay for dinner? We were just going to order pizza since I have to work early in the morning.” Gordon shakes his head, “I really should head back home, I don’t wanna stay too late.” Yasmin just laughs, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Stay,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Gordon. You’re not inconveniencing anyone by being around. Besides, you still haven’t properly introduced me to your friend.” She stands up and walks over to the house phone, leaving Benrey and Gordon to themselves. “Sorry I made you come along.” Benrey stares at him, “Can’t make me do anything I don’t wanna, feetman. Did- did you forget? More like Gordo Forgetman? Did your brain decide that wasn’t- wasn’t a thing?” Gordon picks at a loose string on his tee shirt, sighing, “I just- this must be really awkward for you, ya know? With Yasmin and Joshua.” Benrey looks at him, squinting with confusion. “It’s just your- your dumb, gross, human shit. Plus, I gotta- gotta make sure you don’t trip and fall or nothin’. You’re all- all clumsy.” Gordon finds himself laughing at Benrey’s quips this time, a smile plastered across his face. “Thanks, Benrey.” When Yasmin comes back to the table, she gives Gordon a smile like she knows something. Gordon raises an eyebrow at her, opening his mouth to ask, but Yasmin interrupts him, “So, who </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> your friend?” She gestures at Benrey, who’s still looking at Joshua. Gordon nudges him, “Why don’t you go say hi?” Normally, in Black Mesa, running from aliens and getting his arm cut off, he’d be appalled at the idea of Benrey anywhere near him, let alone his fucking son, but he’s already accepted that nothing in his life is the same as it was in Black Mesa, or at the very least, he needs to try to understand that it’s really not.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Benrey stares at him like he’s fucking crazy, and yeah, that’s fair enough. He might as well be, with just how much trust he’s been putting in someone who’s not human; someone who’s tried to kill him, but he just smiles and nods, reaffirming his approval, and Benrey stands up and walks into the other room. “His name’s Benrey.” He says, turning to Yasmin. “We work together… kinda. He’s a security guard at Black Mesa.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Later, when they’re about to leave, Benrey gives him an absolutely miserable look. “What?” Gordon asks, trying to put his coat on one-handed. “I’m sorry.” It catches Gordon off guard for a moment. What the hell is he sorry for? “Huh?” Benrey just winces like he’s been burned. “I’m sorry for- for being a big rude. Shouldn’t have uh- shouldn’t have tried to kill you n’ stuff.” He catches Benrey look down at what’s left of his arm, but he doesn’t comment on it. “I’ve already forgiven you.” He says, opening the front door and motioning for Benrey to go first. He looks unsure, hurt, almost, but it clears up after a few moments, and Gordon doesn’t comment on that either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He finds himself not commenting on a lot of things, lately. Maybe it’s what happened in Black Mesa, maybe it’s Benrey, he’s not sure. He doesn’t comment on how much Benrey seems to like Joshua, and neither does Benrey. He also doesn’t comment on how they hold hands on the couch that night while watching reruns of house hunters, or how their knees knock together and stay that way for the rest of the night. He doesn’t comment on it when Benrey kisses his wrist when he rewraps the bandages the next morning, or how it becomes a habit for him to do so every morning. He doesn’t comment on how he gradually starts lying in bed with him instead of sitting at Gordon’s desk at night. He certainly doesn’t comment on it when Benrey kisses him after Gordon gets his prosthetic arm, just leans into him and uses his new hand to hold him that much tighter.</span>
</p>
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